The Curio Cabinet
by loubug14
Summary: A series of one-shots, ficlets, and drabbles about miscellaneous characters from the HP world. Any stories above a T will be marked in the A/N. [12 - The Letter] Neville Longbottom [13 - Best Friends Forever] Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil [14 - You Break My Heart] Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy
1. A Great Adventure

Title: A Great Adventure  
Characters/Pairings: Theo/Luna  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch 'Tiggerific Times' Challenge / The Golden Snitch 'Prompt of the Day' Challenge  
Prompt: (character) Theo Nott / (word) adventurer  
World: Post-Hogwarts AU  
Word Count: 515  
Other: 5 points (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) each for Tiggerific Times and Prompt of the Day

* * *

Theo Nott was not an adventurer. He was a home-body, a creature of habit, the kind of person you could set a watch by. He was the very opposite of an adventurer.

So he could not, for the life of him, figure out how he had ended up trekking about in a Swedish forest in the middle of winter.

"Theo?" He turned to find his girlfriend digging through the small bag they had packed, her arm submerged up to her shoulder thanks to an undetectable extension charm. "Did you forget to pack the camera?"

Well, he had some idea of how he ended up there. It was because of a tiny, fey witch who had cornered him at Pansy and Potter's wedding. She'd insisted he dance with her and talked his ear off about a number of creatures he'd never heard of. She spent the night in his arms, first on the dance floor and then later in his bed.

She was bat-shit insane, and he was completely enamored with her. They'd moved in together less than a month after the wedding, and he'd had a tiny silver ring burning a hole in his pocket for a week.

"Of course not, darling," he said, walking over to where she was seated. "It's in there somewhere. _Accio_ camera!" Theo held out his hand.

Nothing.

"But, I know I packed it. I distinctly remember…" Then he _did_ remember: he'd been reading his new issue of _Potions Monthly_ when she'd mentioned the camera, and he'd made a mental note to do later—but he never did.

He sighed. "Apparently I forgot. I'm so sorry Luna."

She shrugged. "That's OK. It would have been nice to have, but we'll do without."

Theo furrowed his brow. Publishing proof of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack—which Theo was quite sure was imaginary—was practically Luna's life goal, though this was the first time she'd dragged him along on an expedition.

Luna cast a warming charm, spread out a blanket, and started unloading lunch.

Theo looked around the clearing. They'd been walking all morning to get to this spot, and he was surprised that she wasn't being more covert about their presence.

"Luna? Shouldn't we hide or something? Unless, of course, the Crumple-Horned Snorkack is a fan of BLTs and crisps."

She smiled brightly at him. "Why are you worried about the Snorkack?"

"Aren't we searching for it?"

She pulled him down on the blanket near her. "No silly. They hibernate in the winter."

"Oh." He took the plate she handed him and ate a few crisps. After a moment he asked, "Then why are we here?"

"Oh, this clearing is very special. It's where Daddy asked Mommy to marry him."

Theo's eyes grew wide, and his hand went to the tiny box in his trousers. "Are you…?"

"No silly. But I did want a special place to tell you we're having a baby."

His jaw dropped and he stared at her, shocked.

After a moment, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Being parents will be a wonderful adventure."


	2. Absolution

Title: Absolution  
Characters: Draco Malfoy  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch's Tiggerific Times / The Golden Snitch's Prompt of the Day / HPFC Friends Competition  
Prompts: (character) Draco Malfoy / (dialogue) "I'm sorry, do I know you?" / Write about someone taking Polyjuice Potion.  
World: Post-Hogwarts AU  
Word Count: 800  
Other: 5 points (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) each for Tiggerific Times and Prompt of the Day

* * *

"Come here often?"

Draco Malfoy looked to the witch who had saddle up next to him. He let his eyes linger at her chest for just a moment—her dress just hinting at the ample bosom underneath—before he turned back to his drink.

"Yes. I'm quite the regular, actually. I enjoy that the other patrons leave me to enjoy my drinks in peace. " He hoped she got his, what he though was quite explicit, message.

She didn't.

"I've only been here a couple times. It's a great pub. Really friendly people. It's nice to come somewhere where you can get away from publicity and what everyone _thinks_ they know about you and just be, you know?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. He knew exactly what she meant. None of the patrons ever bothered him, though given his post-war infamy he was sure they all knew who he was. It was the first pub that hadn't kicked him out before he could order his first drink, and for that he'd spent his evenings buying their finest firewhisky and overtipping the bartender.

It wasn't much, but it was better than sitting and drowning his sorrows alone in the Manor.

He nodded once in reply to the woman, and shored up his shields. She was too friendly to be innocuous.

She waved down the bartender and ordered something called an Old Fashioned. The bartender nodded and returned with a drink that smelled like sweet whisky.

She swirled her glass and looked long at him. "It must be hard, to keep those Occlumency walls up all the time. Don't you ever get tired?"

Those very same Occlumency walls kept the surprise from showing on his face. Only a handful of people knew he was an Occlumens: Severus Snape, who'd died at the Battle of Hogwarts, his mother, who was vacationing with his father in the south of France, and, to his utter chagrin, Harry Potter.

He looked again at the witch. She had dark, straight hair and cinnamon eyes. She was of average height: only a few inches shorter than him in heels. She was pretty—beautiful, even—but her knowing look was throwing him for a loop.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Her smile grew slightly. "Perhaps." She sipped her drink. "I know you."

He scoffed. "I'm sure."

She crossed her legs, her right foot lightly running against his charcoal trousers. "I know you were dealt a shit hand. I know you don't hold your experiences against your parents, even though they put you in the crosshairs of a raving lunatic. I know you feel you have a lot to atone for, but your galleons can only assuage your guilt so much. I know your pride keeps you from seeking forgiveness from those you've wronged."

His heart caught in his throat—she'd summed up what he'd learned after years of drinking and self-loathing—but he never once let his face reveal how on the mark she'd been.

He stared at her. "What do you want from me?"

She tossed back her drink in one gulp, set in on the bar, and put her hand on his thigh. "Repentance."

He stared at her hand. "What do I get in return?" He looked up into her eyes, staring right to his soul.

"Absolution."

They'd taken a room above the pub. He'd let his shields down and confessed his crimes; it hurt too much to keep it all inside. He'd cried—something he hadn't done since the war—and been soothed by the woman who was so familiar yet who, for the life of him, he couldn't remember. He melted into her comforting touch, and he felt the weight of all the wrongs he'd committed evaporate.

And after he'd poured out his heart to the mystery woman, it only felt right that he kiss her.

She'd kissed him back, and that night, wrapped in her arms, he felt himself purified of his sins.

When he woke in the morning, naked as the day he was born and wrapped around the witch, he was only moderately bewildered to find himself immersed in a heap of curls where, the night before he'd easily slid his fingers through her straight locks.

He'd figured about halfway through the night that she'd been Polyjuiced; her demeanor was so familiar, yet he couldn't place her. And if the witch was Polyjuiced, sent to cleanse him of years of evil and wrongdoing, willing to give herself over completely for his deliverance, there was only one witch it could be.

"Granger," he drawled, running his hand along her side. The hair on her skin raised at his touch. She turned over, a tentative smile on her face.

"Malfoy. How do you feel?"

He leaned in to kiss her and whispered, "Free."


	3. My Narcissa

Title: My Narcissa  
Characters/Pairings: Lucius/Narcissa  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch's 'Tiggerific Times' (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) / The Golden Snitch's Prompt of the Day (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) / HPFC Friends Competition  
Prompt: (pairing) Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy / (action) a loved one leaving / Write about the Malfoys.  
World: Post-Hogwarts  
Word Count: 773  
Other: 5 points (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) each for Tiggerific Times and Prompt of the Day

* * *

She watched, devastated, as he was led out of the Ministry courtroom in chains. At the beckoning of their lawyer, she raced after him with as much grace and poise as she could muster.

"You have five minutes to say your goodbyes," the lawyer offered.

"I love you," he whispered in her hair. "I'm so sorry for everything."

"Hush, my sweet." Her lips ghosted over his. "Let's make the most of our time."

When, at the end of five minutes, the Aurors had pulled him away, her hand finally losing contact with his, she felt her heart break.

"I'll be here when you get out," she called. She allowed a hint of a smile when she saw him hold his head high, straighten his back, and walk with the Aurors to the Floo. He would refuse to show weakness to the masses; no pictures of him looking beaten and defeated would be featured in _The Daily Prophet_.

She took a moment to gather herself. She wiped away her tears, shook loose the tension she felt, and smoothed her robes.

If he could be strong, so could she.

* * *

 _My Dearest Lucius,_

 _I received a letter from Draco. His studies are going well. He feels that he will perform admirably on his NEWTS. His new friendship with Miss Granger has been of particular help on that front, as she is even more studious than he is._

 _The roses have all bloomed; house arrest is not so lonely with the flowers for company. I only with I could send you some, so that you might have something beautiful in that horrid place._

 _Stay strong my love. I will see you soon._

 _Your Narcissa_

* * *

 _My Dearest Lucius,_

 _The wedding was quite the success. We have not moved past old divides completely—I hexed that horrid Pansy Parkinson for calling Hermione a mudblood under her breath—but your son has now secured himself quite the wife. I'm pleased to say that she is as well-bred as she is intelligent, and magically powerful to boot._

 _I only wish you could have been there. That I could have danced with you at our son's wedding. He watched her walk down the aisle with that same look you had in your eye almost twenty-five years ago._

 _You had my heart that day, and my love for you has only grown since._

 _Your Narcissa_

* * *

 _My Dearest Lucius,_

 _Not long now—I am counting the days until your release. Has it already been ten years?_

 _Scorpius continues to grow like a weed. He's slowly learning to control his magic, though Hermione has said he's not quite ready for the Muggle world yet. I'm inclined to agree._

 _The newest news—scandal, really—is that Theodore Nott has taken up with the Longbottom heir. Theo was always such a sweet boy, and I'm glad he's found love, though Thoros is probably turning over in his grave._

 _I was also quite gratified when Augusta Longbottom made quite the scene over the matter at the Ministry Samhain Ball. That woman is as mean as the day is long, though you'd never know it the way she acts holier-than-thou in public._

 _We may have our faults, but we've paid our penance, as have Draco, Theo, and the rest of the children._

 _I look forward to seeing you soon, my love. Just a month now, and I'll be in your arms again._

 _Your Narcissa_

* * *

When he walked out of the DMLE office, his eyes were on the floor. She took in his gaunt frame, his lackluster hair, the years of dirt caked under his nails. She was frozen, worried she'd find a ghost of the man she'd loved for so long.

But then he looked up, straight at her, and she could see the twinkle of love and joy and relief in his eyes. She said a silent prayer that the Dementors no longer ran Azkaban, and then, with no regard for grace and poise, ran to her husband.

He smelled like the gutters of Knockturn Alley, and she could feel the grime on his skin, but she didn't care. He was here, in front of her. She could reach out and touch him, hold him, kiss him.

And she did.

He gathered her in his arms, weak from his years of imprisonment, and breathed deeply. Neither cried—Malfoys did not allow such weakness in public—but she could feel his heart race as it matched hers beat for beat.

And, after ten years of hearing nothing from him—for prisoners could only receive, not send, mail—he broke his prison-mandated silence.

"My Narcissa."


	4. I'll Allow It

Title: I'll Allow It  
Characters: Hannah Abbott, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Michael Corner, Mandy Brocklehurst, Bill Weasley  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch's 'Tiggerific Times' challenge / The Golden Snitch's 'Prompt of the Day' challenge / HPFC Friends Challenge  
Prompts: (subject) DADA / (action/phrase) punch in the eye / Write about a competition of some sort.  
World: Hogwarts AU  
Word Count: 794  
Other: 5 points (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) each for Tiggerific Times and Prompt of the Day

* * *

"I want to congratulate you all on a successful year. I know OWLs are just around the corner, but I also know you lot know your stuff. Moreover, I've seen this one," Bill Weasley nodded toward Hannah Abbott, "falling asleep over her Defense textbook in the library _twice_. So, today's review is a practical. Everybody up!"

The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fifth years stood, and Bill banished the desks to the far end of the classroom.

"We're going to have a little inter-house competition! I'm going to divide you up, Hufflepuff vs. Ravenclaw. You'll be scored on how many hits you land and how many you successfully shield against. The House with the highest score at the end of class will receive 50 house points!"

At the professor's prompting, Sally-Anne Perks squared off against Terry Boot.

"We've got this bagged," Michael Corner said, just out of earshot of Professor Weasley. "Hell, I'm sure the only way Abbott could win a duel was if she smothered her opponent with hugs and biscuits." Anthony Goldstein and Mandy Brocklehurst sniggered.

Hannah's cheeks bloomed red, and she sniffled at the ridicule.

"Hey," Justin Finch-Fletchley threw his arm around the blonde witch. "Don't listen to them. You're a strong witch. Just because you prefer _not_ to fight doesn't make you less skilled. With as much as you've been practicing, I'd put my money on you in a duel any day."

Mandy Brocklehurst rolled her eyes. "Awe, look at the 'Puff. You do know that just because you want everyone to be equal doesn't make it true, right? Some witches and wizards are just more powerful than others. It's not a big deal—someone had to be Minister for Magic, and someone has to bake the biscuits for the meetings." She sneered at Hannah.

Terry disarmed Sally-Anne with an _Expelliarmus_.

"Hopkins versus Li!"

Wayne Hopkins was probably the least skilled in their class, so it was no surprise when Sue Li made quick work of him.

"Goldstein versus Bones!"

"Good luck Susan!" Hannah offered her friend a small smile.

Justin grinned. "Yeah, kick his ass!" he called.

"Language, Finch-Fletchley!" Professor Weasley called, though a slight upturn of his lips indicated he wasn't too mad.

"What can you expect from a mudblood?" muttered Michael.

Hannah sucked in her breath. "You take that back, Corner."

"Even if I take it back, it doesn't make it less true." The two boys glared at each other as the duel between Anthony and Susan began. "His magic is tainted, Abbott. You're a half-blood; you should know all about tainted bloodlines."

Justin, who was already near blowing his top, surged forward, but Hannah held him back.

"He's not worth it," she whispered.

Susan bested Anthony with a _Petrificus Totalus_.

"Corner versus Abbott!"

Michael's grin was almost feral as he stalked toward the dueling platform.

Justin let out a heavy breath and squeezed Hannah's hand. "You got this."

She nodded and made her way to the platform.

"Don't forget the biscuits," Mandy hissed.

As soon as Professor Weasley announced "Duel!" Michael thew an _Anteoculatia_ at Hannah. She deflected it, a little perturbed he'd send something so embarrassing.

" _Locomotor Mortis_!" she shouted. Michael yelped as his legs clapped together, then hissed a quick Finite and responded with a _Locomotor Wibbly_.

Hannah's legs collapsed, and her skirt flew up to her bum.

"Easy, Abbott," Michael called with a false smile. "Not quite the show we're supposed to be putting on."

"Corner," Professor Weasley admonished. Michael looked apologetic, though his smirk at Hannah told her that he was anything but.

She canceled the jinx and, in a rare show of power, sent a strong _Flipendo_ Michael's way. He was pushed back almost to the end of the platform, and his eyes grew wide.

He threw a _Calvario_ at her and smirked.

She shielded just in time. Professor Weasley had specifically said their spells must be easily treatable, and everyone knew you couldn't regrow the hair lost from a _Calvario_ by magical means.

She would have been _bald_.

Before the professor could admonish Michael, Hannah brought down a battery of spells.

"That" she yelled, marching toward him and firing off another _Flipendo,_ "is for trying to curse me bald!" She shot a third _Flipendo_ at him, which he barely deflected. "That is for implying I'm not a good witch!"

She shouted _Expelliarmus_ just as she reached him, grabbed his want, and punched him.

"And that," she said, shaking out her fist as Corner clutched his left eye, "is for calling my friend a mudblood."

The entire class was silent for a moment, then slowly turned to Professor Weasley.

He raised an eyebrow. "A hit. A very palpable hit." Then he shrugged. "I'll allow it. MacDougal versus Jones!"


	5. My Love, My Heart

Title: My Love, My Heart  
Forum/Challenge: QFLC Round 4 Submission (Beater 2, Ballycastle Bats) / HPFC Friends Challenge  
Prompts: (color) silver, (word) rare, (dialogue) "Could you be happy here with me?" / Write about a long-distance relationship  
World: Pre-Hogwarts (mostly)  
(Awesome) Betas: queen-sheep, crochetaway  
Word Count: 2,054

* * *

 _1981_

Kingsley Shacklebolt waited impatiently in the waiting room of the newly-minted Department for International Cooperation. The war with Voldemort had taken its toll on Britain, and the remaining blood purists—particularly abroad—were of great concern to Minister Bagnold. The Potters were dead, the Longbottoms were as good as, and those were just the families that Kingsley knew well. It felt as though every day he was being called to clean up the bodies left in the wake of lingering Voldemort supporters.

The British government had clamped down _hard_. As such, international portkeys were now heavily regulated.

Kingsley understood the necessity of it. However, those stringent rules and regulations made an already nerve-wracking experience even worse. Rather than having Adeola's entire family portkey to Britain for the meeting of the families, engagement ceremony, and wedding—an event that had already been pushed off a year because of the war—she'd had to get special dispensation from the Ministry to visit. Britain had even required a letter from the Headmaster at Uagadou as a personal reference before they allowed her in the country. This moment should have been a formal introduction of both large families, which would mitigate the fraught situation with its ages-old rites and etiquette; instead, Kingsley stood alone in the quiet waiting room and prepared to meet his betrothed for the first time.

He was beside himself, though he wasn't sure if it was excitement, anxiety, or a bit of both that was making his hands tremble like a schoolboy.

* * *

 _1974_

 _Dear Adeola,_

 _It feels odd to write—and to be betrothed—to someone I have never met, but I imagine it is much the same for you. Perhaps we can both set aside our nerves and instead spend these years getting to know one another through letters._

 _Congratulations on beginning your schooling. I have heard excellent things about the instruction at Uagadou—their dueling champions are some of the most feared on the international circuit, given their ease with wandless casting. Here, such a skill is rare, and often only the most powerful witches and wizards master it._

 _I am, myself, a recent graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is Britain's premier magical school, much like Uagadou for the African continent. I was a Prefect—a position of leadership—within my house for the final three years of my studies._

 _Now I am an Auror at the British Ministry of Magic. I just finished my training, and my new partner, Alastor Moody, is a senior Auror. I am very lucky to find myself paired with a man of morals and skills; he also has quite the sharp tongue!_

 _I will admit—I do not know much about being a husband. I always knew my father would find me a wife—such is the way with our family—so I did not 'date', as many witches and wizards do here. I did not want to give my heart to another when I knew I was meant for you. I will admit, I suffered some teasing for this from the other wizards in my house, but I have held you precious even before I knew your name._

 _I can only hope that as you begin your schooling you do so with an eye to our future._

 _Yours,_

 _Kingsley_

* * *

 _1977_

 _My Dearest Kingsley,_

 _I have completed the exam season and am preparing to head back to Ibadan. I look forward to being with family but expect little rest. Mother has decided this summer I will start formal lessons on running a household. She has also secured a tutor in British customs and etiquette. I know your family is of high esteem in your country, and I would never want to embarrass you for my lack of knowledge._

 _I am sure I did well on my Alchemy and Potions exams, and I have good feelings about Defense and Charms. I am concerned about my Transfiguration exam; most students in my year have achieved their Animagi form already, but mine continues to be elusive. Professor Mwangi thinks my soul is divided and that my animal will not take form until my spirit is whole._

 _I will admit to blushing at his pronouncement, and I place the blame for my failure squarely on your shoulders._

 _How is it possible to have so much feeling for someone I have yet to meet? Is it because I am a young girl? I see how the other witches here fall to pieces over their wizards. I wonder if I would giggle when you held my hand, or if you would embrace me in the corridor between classes. I'm sure that silver tongue of yours would charm your way into a stolen kiss or two._

 _I hope work has settled—it does not give me peace to hear there has been an increase of assaults in your country. You must keep yourself safe and healthy, Obim, for I am not there to worry over you and your fondness for 80 hour work weeks at your dangerous job. [1] I expect to see my husband when I am in Britain, and for him to be hale and whole._

 _May the gods watch over you and keep you safe._

 _My love and fondest regard,_

 _Adeola_

* * *

 _1980_

 _My Darling Adeola,_

 _It is with a heavy heart that I write you and let you know that Fabian and Gideon Prewett, my good friends from work, have passed. They were cursed in a skirmish with Death Eaters, and even the best Healers at St. Mungo's could do nothing for them. I was at the hospital, with their family, to the end; I have never been so heartbroken as when I saw their sister receive the news that they had passed._

 _They lived a good life and died honorable deaths—they took out five Death Eaters before they succumbed— and I am hopeful that I will see them both again in the next great adventure. However, their deaths remind me how fragile our existence is. I know you have a year left of school—an important year, during which you should devote yourself to your Alchemy and Potions studies—but the distance between us continues to tear at my heart. I cannot regret my job; I am good at it, and I am making a difference by fighting against these violent blood purists. Yet, I fear that I will be gone from this world before I can hold you in my arms and show you exactly how much you mean to me._

 _Write to me with some happy news and relieve this ache in my heart. Are you still at the top of your class? How are you fairing in your dueling club? Did your brother finally achieve his Animagi form?_

 _Yours, always,_

 _Kingsley_

* * *

 _1981_

When she finally arrived, appearing out of thin air and clutching the small Galleon that served as her portkey, Kingsley went weak in the knees. Adeola was more than he could have imagined: tall and lithe, with skin that shone and eyes that twinkled. She wore a dress that was cut after the popular styles in Britain: sleeves that reached to her elbow with broad shoulders, a belt that cinched at her natural waist, and a hemline that fell to her knees. The dress pattern, however, was a bright blue and gold, much more lively than the khakis and greys popular in drab wizarding Britain, and it was complemented by a simple, deep blue gele. [2]

Their eyes met, and he watched a shy smile brighten her face.

He approached her. "Adeola?"

She tentatively lowered her head. He was shocked when, a moment later, she huffed.

"I am unsure of how to greet you, without the formalities."

He reached out and lifted her chin, meeting her dark eyes with his own. "Ife mi," he whispered. [3]

Tears welled in her eyes. "Obim."

And, after seven years of waiting, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

The morning before their engagement ceremony, Kingsley took her on a tour of the gardens at Shacklebolt Hall. It had nonstop rained since her arrival—four straight days—and he could tell she was suffering from the lack of fresh air and sunlight. He had instructed the elves to make as many traditional dishes as possible for meals, slowly easing her into the bland British food he was used to, but their jollof rice and efo riro couldn't assuage her clear homesickness.

They stopped at the day lilies, and Kingsley took her hands in his. "I know this world is very different from yours, but could you be happy here with me, Ife mi? If not, you must tell me now. If you wish to go home, I will not make you stay."

She smiled and kissed his cheek. "I already am home. I was the moment I laid eyes on you at the Ministry. And no amount of rain or bland food or boring British parties will change that. _You_ are my home."

* * *

 _1998_

There had been no question in his mind, after the death of Cedric Diggory, that Voldemort had returned. He did not buy into Rita Skeeter's tripe for one minute, and he held Dumbledore in great esteem. The man had approached him in the summer of 1994 about joining the Order of the Phoenix—a group which had apparently existed in the first war against Voldemort, but of which he had not been a part—and he'd readily agreed.

He'd also made immediate plans to get his family out of the country.

Adeola had thrown the fit to end all fits, yelling that any Dark Lord that would come for her would regret the day he held a wand and didn't Kingsley think she could take care of herself and she would _not_ be separated from her husband again. The ache of their seven year betrothal was still fresh in her memory.

He'd only had to take her hands and list their children's names—Magnus, their son, and Efemi, their daughter—for her anger to deflate.

"And their schooling?" Adeola asked, half-heartedly. It was not a fight she would win, but she would make a token effort.

He kissed the top of her head. "Magnus will have the privilege of spending his first years of school where his mother learned, and when he comes back to Hogwarts he will have skills in wandless magic of which his peers could only dream."

"And Efe?"

He smiled. "She will spend time sorely missed with her mother's family. This is not a punishment, Adeola. I saw what happened in the last war. They will target you-all of you-because of me. Please, Ife mi, let me keep you safe."

Unlike last time, his owls to her had been intermittent, and she never wrote back; he did not want their letters intercepted and their location given away. He never knew that he would long for the letters of their youth, that he would miss so desperately her monthly missives.

On May 2, 1998, after he had rounded up his last Death Eater, but before he fell into bed and slept for forty hours, he sent off his final owl.

 _Come home_.

And now he was back in the same waiting room where it all began. And, like so many years before, his family arrived out of thin air and his heart leaped.

"Baba!" cried his daughter, running into his arms. [4] Magnus was not far behind. He hugged them tight, as if to make up for the four years of distance.

"Let me look at you," he said, pulling back. "Ack, my wife, who are these children you have brought with you. They cannot be mine, for they are too tall! This one"—he rubbed Magnus's head—"is not a child, but a man!"

Magnus grinned at the compliment.

"And this one"—he lifted his daughter—"must be a princess you have stolen, for she is the second most beautiful woman I have seen!"

Efemi pouted. "Second?"

He set his daughter down, winked at her, and swept his weeping wife into his arms. "Yes, for you are the daughter of the most beautiful woman in the world." He embraced Adeola and kissed her firmly.

"Welcome home."

* * *

Footnotes  
[1] "Obim" is a Yoruba or Igbo term of endearment (I've seen the term attributed to both languages); it means "my heart."  
[2] A gele is a traditional Nigerian headscarf for women.  
[3] "Ife mi" is a Yoruba term of endearment; it means "my love."  
[4] "Baba" is a term used in a number of languages, including Yoruba, father.


	6. So You Want to Play Quidditch?

Title: So, why do you want to play Quidditch?  
Characters: Adrian Pucey, Draco Malfoy  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch 'Tiggerific Times' challenge / The Golden Snitch 'Prompt of the Day' challenge / HPFC Friends Challenge  
Prompts: (character) Adrian Pucey / taking or preparing for an interview / Write about a job interview.  
World: Post-Hogwarts  
Word Count: 598

* * *

"So, Adrian, why do you want to play Quidditch?"

Adrian sucked in his breath.

"Well, sir, the Ballycastle Bats are one of the best teams in the league and I really think I could be an asset to the Chasers. I mean, you've got a great team together already, but you could use someone with a little more speed…"

"Stop." Draco held up his hand. "The question was why you want to play Quidditch, not why you want to play Quidditch for the Bats. You're telling me if this interview was for Puddlemere or the Arrows that you wouldn't take it? Pucey, you would play Chaser for the _Cannons_ if it meant you got to play Quidditch professionally. Plus, you don't want to indicate they suck or anything—you're not looking to coach the team. So, try again.

"Why do you want to play Quidditch?"

The dark haired wizard paused. "Well, since my years as a Chaser on the Slytherin team at Hogwarts I've always thought about playing professionally. I never had the opportunity to be captain—Marcus Flint, he plays for the Tornadoes, was our captain and in my year—"

"Stop." Draco held up his hand again. "You did two things wrong. One, you mentioned Hogwarts which means you mentioned Slytherin, which you do _not_ want to do in this post-war climate, and two, you brought up Flint."

Adrian rolled his eyes. "So what if I brought up Flint? Doesn't it mean something that I know another professional player? Doesn't that give me an 'in' or whatever?"

Draco brought his hand to his head and rubbed his temple. "No, Adrian. Merlin, how did you get sorted into Slytherin anyway? There's not a cunning bone in your damn body; what other Slytherin needs help preparing for a job interview? You go in, you tell them what they want to hear, and you get the job.

"Bringing up Flint does two things. One, it highlights that he was the Slytherin captain, _not you_. You're in the same year, you play the same position; they'll wonder why he got it over you? Which brings us to the second issues with Flint: he's already playing professionally."

"So?" asked Adrian.

"So, they're going to wonder why they're thinking about bringing you on the team instead of trying to steal Flint from the Tornadoes! How are you going to stand out?"

Adrian narrowed his eyes. "My tryout, that's how."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Sure, you're a great Chaser, but they'd a dime a dozen. Hell, the little Weasley girl could fly circles around you, even in school, and she was a fourth year!

"Now, one more time, why do you want to play Quidditch?"

Adrian took a deep breath. He blocked out all the expectations of his parents, of his friends, and just focused on the feeling he got when flying. When he scored. When one of his Beaters blocked a Bludger. The high of winning. The disappointment of losing. The way everything else faded away when he played.

"Quidditch is this… impossible game. We're flying and there's three different balls and no breaks—not even for defense. There's constant movement, constant awareness of your surroundings, and when I play I feel like I enter this, I don't know, nirvana. And when that translates to everyone on a team—when we all achieve that zen experience—that team becomes unbeatable. I want to play Quidditch so I can be a part of something impossible, something I'm good at, and kick a little ass along the way."

Draco smirked and nodded. "You're hired."


	7. Savages!

Title: Savages!  
Characters: Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch 'Light It Up Like the Fourth' challenge (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu)  
Prompt: (era) 1776-ish  
World: Colonial!AU  
Warnings: Mentions of torture, death  
Word Count: 492

* * *

 _Buckingham Palace, Britain, January 1774_

King Voldemort sat with his consort, Madame Bellatrix Black, and sipped tea. Running and empire was difficult, but with the right woman by his side he was sure to succeed. Bellatrix was the perfect companion: sychophantic, quite insane, and quick with a _Crucio_. Given her penchant for violence, he'd thought about making her the captain of his army, especially now that the American colonies were causing so much trouble. However, he couldn't bring himself to part with her special kind of crazy.

Instead, he'd sent Walden McNair, who was equally bloodthirsty but preferred beheading rebels to wand work. He said he liked to get his hands dirty, and _Avada_ was too clean and quick.

King Voldemort understood that lust for blood and pain. And given how much the American colonists, particularly Reverend Dumbledore and the Sons and Daughters of the Phoenix, were causing, he felt no compunction about sending in his army to quash the unrest.

In fact, it was over afternoon tea that he and Bellatrix were reviewing McNair's reports on the army's movements.

"McNair captured my cousin!" Bellatrix squealed, elated. "He chopped off his head!"

"The sympathizer, or the one who stole from me?" drawled King Voldemort.

"The sympathizer, your Highness. He'd fled the island once his true leanings were revealed. I'm only sorry I couldn't capture him first and _Crucio_ him for you until there was nothing left."

King Voldemort smiled. "Yes, my dear, you are quiet handy with that spell. Speaking of, how are the Longbottoms?"

She grinned. "Resting comfortably at their ancestral manor. My sources tell me they haven't spoken two coherent words since they responded to your summons, your Highness. Apparently, Madam Longbottom is most upset, especially as her only grandson has gone into hiding with the rebels."

King Voldemort smiled indulgently. "Have no fear, Bella. When we find him, I'll bring him to you and let you play. Perhaps we'll make Augusta watch before she takes him home to join his parents. After all, family should stick together."

This led to a brief theoretical discussion as to whether the _Crucio_ was the best spell for inflecting long term mental damage, or if another might be more effective. This conversation was interrupted by a clearly-upset Lord Malfoy.

"Lucius? To what do I owe this… interruption?" King Voldemort glared at the man, indicating whatever his news was better be good.

"Your Highness," trembled Lucius, "the rebels have attacked!"

"What?" cried Bella. "How dare they!"

"Our losses?" Inquired Voldemort. He'd be most displeased to hear McNair died. Finding good minions was hard work.

Lucius, who had no problem torturing at his King's behest and who, over tea and crumpets, had no problem discussing Dark Arts and the most effective ways of killing a victim, was visibly shaken.

"They… they… they dumped all the East India tea in Boston Harbor!"

Bellatrix gasped, and King Voldemort crushed his teacup in his hand.

"The savages!"


	8. Almost

Title: Almost  
Characters: Frank/Alice, Neville  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch 'Prompt of the Day' challenge / The Golden Snitch 'Tiggerific Times' challenge  
Prompts: (song lyrics) 'Love Can Save Us All' - Andra (chorus) / (pairing) Frank and Alice Longbottom  
Word Count: 504  
Other: 5 points (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu) each for Tiggerific Times and Prompt of the Day

* * *

The days blur together. The green people walk in and out. Sometimes they bring food; sometimes they bring drinks that taste bad.

She doesn't like those drinks. She tries not to take them, to give them back to the green people.

She sleeps a lot. It feels like there's something important in sleep, something she can find that she can't when surrounded by the green people.

* * *

 _"For better, for worse," Alice said._

 _"For richer, for poorer," Frank said._

 _"'Til death do us part," they said._

 _They twirled in their wedding finery, and she leaned in to lay her head on his shoulder. She looked around at all their friends, drinking and dancing and laughing. It was almost enough to forget there was a war on the horizon._

* * *

When she wakes up, she's not alone. There is someone important with her. She turns and sees the man. He's always there, looking at her. And she looks at him.

They look at each other, searching.

There was something there, but it felt a thousand miles away. But it's important. _He's_ important. So she looks.

After a bit, she reaches in her drawer and pulls out a crinkle. The sounds sooth her. She hums, and the man takes her hand.

She does not pull away.

* * *

 _"Neville Franklin Longbottom," Alice said, cooing over her baby._

 _"The most beautiful baby in the world," said Frank, leaning down to kiss his wife._

 _She looked up at him, adoration in her eyes. "We made this, Frank. You and me."_

* * *

There's another man there when she wakes. He seems familiar, but sad. She finds the crinkle still in her hand, and she gives it to the sad man.

It will make him feel better.

"Mum," the said man says.

This word seems familiar. When the green people speak, she can't understand them. Their words have no meaning.

But this word, it means something. She doesn't know what, but it's important.

Like "Dad."

Like "Love."

He took the crinkle when he left. The man who was there with her took her hand and laid down.

* * *

 _"Don't give up on me, Alice!" Frank called, firing curse after curse._

 _He had the Lestrange brothers locked in a fierce duel, while she took on Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr-because_ of course _the Head of the DMLE's son was a Death Eater. She would have rolled her eyes at the thought, had she not been dueling._

 _She was holding her own, hoping their quick Patronus would draw the Order for backup._

 _Then she saw Frank fall._

 _Then she heard him scream._

 _"Frank!"_

 _"Crucio," hissed Rodolphus._

 _"Crucio," hissed Rabastan._

 _"Crucio," hissed Bellatrix._

 _And her whole world went black, and there was nothing but pain._

* * *

Some days she feels like it's almost there, the answer. Like she could almost reach out and take it—like she could remember.

Until then, she hums and keeps her crinkles for when the sad man visits and holds the hand of the man who's there with her.

She'll work it out, somehow.


	9. A Stupid Party (Part I)

Title: A Stupid Party (Part I)  
Characters: OCs  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch 'Light It Up Like the Fourth' challenge (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu)  
Prompt: (setting) Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Word Count: 382

* * *

"But why?" asked Janie Beauchamp.

Jameson Adams shrugged. "Dunno. That's the way it's always been."

Janie crossed her arms. "That's stupid."

The two first years quickly walked through the halls of Ilvermorny School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, rushing to make it to Charms on time. The two had been promised that if they did well in their summer enrichment class that they could take third year charms the coming year, instead of staying with their second year class.

"I don't see what the big deal is Janie. It's just a party."

"But it's not. Don't you see? The idea is that we're celebrating freedom from an oppressive government. But the only people who profited from that freedom where while landowners. _Male_ white landowners."

Jameson shrugged. "Sure, _then_. But it's better now. Everyone is free."

Janie thought about that for a moment. Sure, she guessed, _technically_ it was a free country. But there were a lot of things certain people couldn't do. She knew Amara didn't wear her hijab all the time when she was home from school. "People don't see me," she told Janie one night in their dorm. "They see my headscarf, and all of a sudden I'm not a person."

She also knew her cousin, Aiden, didn't hold hands with his boyfriend when they were out in public. "It'd be different if we were in New York, or Chicago, or even Atlanta," he told her. "But Baton Rouge? Nah, suga, I ain't gonna borrow trouble."

Jamson eyed her. "So you _don't_ celebrate the Fourth of July?"

She shrugged. It wasn't as if she didn't know about the Fourth of July—she'd been to Muggle primary, she knew about the Boston Tea Party and Paul Revere and all that jazz—but her family didn't have their summer cookout then.

"Nah, not really. My family does Juneteenth."

"What is Juneteenth?"

"You know, the day slaves were emancipated?"

Jameson furrowed his brow. "But…"

Janie rolled her eyes. "Look, I'll come to the stupid party Jameson. I'd be the only summer student who _wouldn't_ be there. All I'm saying is y'all ain't really celebrating the freedom. At least, not everybody's freedom."

She pushed her way into the Charms class, only barely taking her seat before Professor Li started explaining the theory behind _Arresto Momentum_.


	10. A Stupid Party (Part II)

Title: A Stupid Party (Part II)  
Characters: OCs  
Forum/Challenge: The Golden Snitch 'Light It Up Like the Fourth' competition (Mahoutokoro, House Mizu)  
Prompt: How do students at Ilvermorny celebrate Independence Day?  
Opt-Prompt: (setting) Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Word Count: 708

* * *

Janie went to the stupid party. She even brought cornbread.

There were only about fifteen students. She and Jameson were the youngest, but they were both in Horned Serpent and they'd already heard the good-natured jabs about nerdy bookworms.

She had to admit, generally the part way fun. If she divorced it from the actual day, she could envision a simple summer barbecue for the professors and summer students. Here, she could ask Professor Li questions about fifth year curriculum; she could ask Professor Matthews-Li about her experiences with Animagus training and whether third year was too young to start the process.

She could take Professor Beauchamp aside and talk more about Voodoo. She found the practice fascinating, as she had been practicing hoodoo since she was young. She absently patted her mojo-bag on the inside of her hip, tucked away and out of sight.

She and Professor Beauchamp had bemoaned Ilvermorny's narrow concept of magic and magical practices. Privately, Professor Beauchamp had bemoaned that Ilvermorny considered such practices "dark magic."

Because anything they didn't understand was automatically "dark magic."

Janie thought to the Great Blood War of Britain that had taken place only two decades earlier, where anything considered "dark magic," like blood magic, had been outlawed by a reactionary government. There was increasing pressure from Britain's Ministry to make such policies international. Their Magical Customs and Traditions professor said the ICW would convene this summer to further discuss those policies.

Janie rolled her eyes at the thought. One of the reasons her mojo bag was so powerful was because it was imbued with the blood of her first menses. It's one of the reasons she guarded her mojo bag so fiercely—if she killed the hand, she'd never regain a bag of that power.

She shook her head and focused back on the people around her. Jameson was talking to Chris Fletcher about Quodpot, and two fifth years were flirting with next year's Head Boy, Matthew Peters.

"All right, all right!" Professor Li called from across the field, amplifying his voice with a _Sonorous._ "Ladies and gentlemen—witches and wizards—please grab your final drink or piece of pie and join me for this year's annual fireworks display!"

A few minutes later, the students and professors were laid out on conjured blankets and chairs, staring off the mountain edge.

"I call this year's display: Death to Imperialism!" he announced brightly.

Not a few of the audience members groaned when John Williams's 'Imperial March' began playing from somewhere.

"I should've never taken him to see those movies," bemoaned Professor Matthews-Li. "He's obsessed. What's embarrassing is that his favorite character is Jar Jar Binks."

Janie stared at the display. The explosions feature names and flags of Pacific Islands that she didn't recognize—places called Tonga and Nauru—before transitioning to more familiar countries like Fiji and New Zealand. Murmurs spread through the audience that all of the featured countries had once been part of the British Empire.

There were kangaroos that hopped around for Australia, and there was a great dragon snaked in their air for China. The larger the occupied territory, the more elaborate the display was.

The grand finale, of course, was the American colonies. Professor Li had enchanted the fireworks to feature important parts of the Revolutionary War, including the Boston Tea Party and Paul Revere's ride.

It was impressive Charms work, Janie admitted, and enthusiastically applauded at the end of the display.

Despite her earlier conversation with Jameson, no one made a speech about American exceptionalism or to the freedoms gained because of the revolution. Janie was grateful.

As she laid in her bed that night, she wondered whether her frustrations with the Fourth of July were similar to her frustrations with magical practices. She thought back to what Professor Beauchamp told her when she asked why the school didn't teach hoodoo or Vodun or Native American shamanistic practices.

"Bless their hearts, it's all black and white for 'em," the Potions Professor said wearily. "They ain't got the ability to talk shades of grey."

That night, The Devil from Janie's Tarot chased her through the halls of Ilvermorny, stealing dream-Janie's mojo bag and offering her cornbread and fireworks instead.


	11. The Limits of Magic

Title: The Limits of Magic  
Characters: Cassiopeia Black, Marius Black

Forum: QFLC—Round 6 (Beater 2, Ballycastle Bats)  
Prompt: (inspiration) Frankenstein  
Opt-Prompts: (word limit) 1833, (object) mirror

Forum: HPFC  
Challenge: FRIENDS Challenge  
Prompt: Write about any member of the Black family (9.16)

World: Pre-Hogwarts  
Word Count: 1,260

A/N: When I teach 'Frankenstein,' it's usually in a post-humanist context: how we constitute personhood—how do we delineate between life that is worthwhile and life that is not? Who is worthy of life, of being treated morally and ethically? I think these questions are what make 'Frankenstein' a lasting text that offers something to even contemporary audiences.

Also, s/o to Cheeky Slytherin Lass, whose 'Cooking Lessons' reminded me of the oft-overlooked Marius.

…

 _The soul is a tenuous concept: it can be split, as with a Horcrux; it can be separated from a living body, as with a Dementor's kiss; it can live on after the death of a body, as with a ghost; the soul can 'move on' with the body at death. However, Thomas Aquinas, the great magical theorist of the 13th century, argued that souls are immortal and, like the magic that flows in us, exist in various states of nature […]_

 _Theoretically, then, it is only our limited knowledge of magic that prevents us from breaching the line between what we conceive of as life and death and existing in a world beyond such binary thinking. Not only could it be possible to evade death as we know it completely, but we could access those whose souls_ have _moved beyond the veil, as it were. For instance, if Conjuration allows us to bring forth an inanimate object from nothing, does it not stand to reason that magic would allow us to bring forth an animate one?_

 _The recent adoption of 'Gamp's Law' as unassailable proves to be a hindrance to further exploration of this area of magical theory._

 _-The Limits of Magick_

 _Godelot, trans. Eduardus Limette Black_

...

Cassopeia licked her lips and grinned as she read. A new project.

The Black beauty prided herself on her knowledge and mastery of magic. She'd experimented with the furthest limits of known practice; she'd never made an _actual_ Horcrux, but she'd been inspired by 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart' and now had her own beating vessel hidden away in a Goblin-wrought container under a _Fidelus_.

It had been her initial study of the _Fidelus_ , in fact, that had inspired her to learn about soul magics in the first place.

Not even her family knew the depth of her work in magical theory. Sure, Cassiopeia was a renown Potions Mistress; her academic accomplishments allowed her parents to save face in light of her unmarried state. But men had never called to her the way magic did; she made sure the rumor mill knew of her tryst with Virginia Burke, and most of the marriage offers disappeared. Those who were not dissuaded by her disdain for men quickly found themselves enamored with less-than-desirable wives. After all, Cassiopeia was both a Potions Mistress _and_ a Slytherin, and Amortentia was nothing more than a Sixth Year Hogwarts project.

No, the Black family assumed Cassiopeia spent her days in her laboratory perfecting her Potions work. They asked no questions when she wandered up to the Library, assuming the books she was pulling were about potions.

She was thankful no one ever looked at the titles. _Soul Magicks, The Necrotic Arts,_ and _Theoryes of Dark Magick_ would have made even Pollux raise an eyebrow. But now that Godelot had offered the possibility of conjuring an anima—of calling forth the immortal soul—Cassiopeia could not let it go.

Even if she could never share her accomplishments with the world, Cassiopeia would always know that she had pushed magic as far as it would go, and then reached beyond. With magic, anything was possible—nothing was out of her grasp, not even what lay beyond the veil.

...

It took almost a decade of research, runic work, spell crafting, and practice. She had long since left Grimmauld for a secluded cottage that she had warded to a questionably-legal extent; she had effectively estranged herself from her remaining family—mainly Pollux and his atrocious family, but also sweet little Dorea and her genial husband Charlus. Dorea had owled her on numerous occasions for recommendations regarding fertility draughts, but Cassiopeia had more important things on her mind.

And now, she was ready.

She stared in the full-length mirror in front of her, the borders etched with thousands of tiny, precise runes. The reflection offered her that which both was and was not: not reality itself, but an echo of the world around her. Such a bridge between existence and non-existence was necessary for the soul's journey from beyond.

She had the dead body of a Muggle next to her, should the soul she summoned choose to inhabit it. Marius's body was long buried and likely rotted by time and worms, but the Muggle child she'd found had his kind face and the Black grey eyes.

He had no magic, but neither had Marius; Cassiopeia shuddered at the memory of her younger brother on his eleventh birthday, when no owl appeared with his Hogwarts letter. He had silently cried at breakfast, and then resolutely followed their father to the basement.

To the wider wizarding world, Marius Black had died from a quick battle with Dragon Pox, but Cassiopeia had stood at the door and heard the _Avada_ herself.

The Black family would not allow their shame to continue on, even in the Muggle world. _Toujours Pur_. Pure in blood, pure in magic.

Thou shall not suffer a Squib to live.

But Cassiopeia knew better. Something had shifted in her the day Marius was killed, and her studies as an adult had confirmed it. All the pure-blood posturing about bloodlines and the purity of craft…

It was all bullshit.

Had Marius lived, he might have eventually fathered a magical child. But Cygnus had been too short-sighted—to embarrassed—to show compassion or basic human decency to his son.

Cassiopeia would rectify that mistake.

" _Siest_ _Animaea Marius Black,_ " she hissed at the mirror subtly moving her wand in a series of complicated and precise gestures.

She stared in the mirror and waited. And waited.

And slowly, a form materialized. A young boy, dark haired and sweet faced. A young boy, with tearful grey eyes.

"Cassie?" she saw him mouth, for she could not hear his voice on this side of the mirror.

Cassiopeia smiled. "Marius." She held out her hands, and the figure tentatively walked toward her. Her breath caught when two small hands passed through her own.

Marius stepped through the mirror tentatively. "Am I dead?"

Cassiopeia shrugged. "In a way. Right now, the closest word would be ghost. But you don't have to be." She gestured to the child's body nearby, under a stasis-spell to prevent decay of the organs. "I know the spell to put you right again, Marius."

The child nodded. "Who was he?"

Cassiopeia shrugged. "Some Muggle boy."

Marius thought for a moment, still looking at the boy. "Will I still be me?"

The witch gestured Marius over to the body and knelt beside it. "You will be as you as you are now. You will look slightly different. Think of it as permanent Polyjuice."

"But I still won't have magic," Marius said.

"You'll be alive," Cassiopeia countered.

"Would you want to be alive without magic?" Marius asked. When he looked at his sister, she found no hatred or disdain in his eyes. It was the question of a child: honest and forthright. And, given that said child had been murdered by his father for not being magical, absolutely reasonable.

But if Cassiopeia could destroy the veil—could bring back people from the dead, could make the immortal soul once again walk the mortal plane—then what couldn't she do?

"Come back, Marius," said said, smiling at her brother. "Come back to me, and I will find a way to make you magical."

"But Cassie," Marius frowned. "That's not possible."

She laughed. It was sweet, honest, and slightly maniacal. "That hasn't stopped me yet. Come, let me begin; we have research to do."


	12. The Letter

Title: The Letter  
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom

Forum/Challenge: HPFC Friends Challenge  
Prompt: TOW Heckles Dies (2.3) Write about someone's insecurities.

Forum/Challenge: TGS Back to School (House Mizu, Mahoutokoro)  
Prompt: Receiving a letter - Write about a character first realizing they're a wizard/witch OR receiving their Hogwarts letter (10)  
Opt Prompt: (house) Gryffindor (5)  
Points: 15

World: Hogwarts  
Word Count: 752

* * *

Neville Longbottom woke sluggishly on July 30th, 1991, and immediately wished he hadn't. He buried his head back into his pillow, willing himself to disappear or die or spontaneously transfigure into parchment-weight. Anything, _anything,_ to avoid breakfast this morning.

It was the day that his grandmother and great-uncle expected his Hogwarts letter.

Neville, of course, didn't expect anything.

Of course, he knew he was a wizard. Great-Uncle Algie had confirmed that when he'd dropped his near-squib nephew out of a third-story window. Two years later, Neville still had night terrors about plummeting to the grounds of Longbottom Hall.

What no one tells you about tossing magical kids out of windows is that the fall never slows down; rather, their magic softens the landing. Neville had hit the grass outside his bedroom window at full speed; his magic had just made that grass so soft as to not matter.

Not matter physically, at least.

The experience had given him severe acrophobia and he'd never once flown the Cleansweep that his great-uncle bought him that year in celebration of his accidental magic. As if there was anything remotely accidental about dropping a child out of a window.

But just because he had magic didn't mean he had _enough_ to attend Hogwarts. Squibs could brew some potions, cultivate magical plants, and work with magical creatures, but they certainly weren't invited to attend Britain's premier magic school. Not even every magical child in Britain received a letter—many were homeschooled or sent abroad, if they weren't deemed strong enough to succeed in Hogwarts's curriculum. His grandmother often bemoaned the existence of these schools, especially Ilvermorny.

"That's what you get when a magical school is founded by a _Muggle_ ," she had said scathingly, in response to a _Daily Prophet_ article announcing the school's new squib-immersion program, focusing on training squibs for vocations in the magical world. "Leave the magical world to proper wizards and witches, I say."

Neville bit his lip before he could remind his grandmother that, had he been a squib, she would've _begged_ to place him in that program.

The past year had been the worst. It all started September first, when Great Uncle Algie said, "Just think, Neville my boy, this time next year you'll be sitting down with the other Gryffindors at the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast!"

It was a cruel twist of fate to give someone like Neville a birthday at the end of July, forcing him to deal with almost ten months of Hogwarts-this and Gryffindor-that. The worst was when Augusta would start talking about how great his father was and how Neville couldn't ever hope to be as strong as Frank was but weren't goals nice to have?

Every time his family talked up Hogwarts, he became further and further convinced that he'd never get his letter.

He had come up with a plan, though. He loved plants, just like his mum, so he would study Herbology independently. He might never be an Auror, like his parents, or sit serve as the representative of House Longbottom on the Wizengamot, but he could grow plants. He'd be the best Herbologist Britain had ever seen.

As much as he did _not_ want to deal with his family's disappointment today, he was actually starting to look forward to a quiet life cultivating asphodel and aconite and…

"Neville!" called Augusta from outside of his door. "Your birthday is no excuse to laze around. Come down to breakfast this instant!"

Resigning himself to his fate, he dragged himself out of bed, changed into proper morning clothes, and ambled slowly to the dining room. When he sat down, there was a formal envelope at his place setting, addressed to him. When he turned it over, his eyes grew wide at the Hogwarts seal.

Would they send him a rejection? He didn't personally know anyone who received a rejection letter, but then again Augusta Longbottom only associated with 'proper' wizards and witches.

 _Dear Mr. Longbottom,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

 _Please find enclosed…_

"Wonderful," Augusta intoned regally as she smiled tightly at her grandson, who was trying desperately not to cry in frustration. Augusta, of course, assumed he was overcome with joy. "We'll get your materials in Diagon Alley next week. Of course, you won't be needing a wand. I've kept your father's wand for just this occasion. He was a great wizard, you know…"


	13. Best Friends Forever

Title: Best Friends Forever  
Characters/Pairings: Lavender Brown/Parvati Patil

Forum/Challenge: HPFC Friends Challenge  
Prompt: TOW The Lesbian Wedding (2.11) - Write about a femslash pairing (bonus points for writing about a ghost femslash pairing).

Word Count: 211  
World: Hogwarts

* * *

They were the best of friends.

From their first day in the Gryffindor dorms, they were inseparable. They had all the same interests, took all the same classes, read all the same _Witch's Weekly_ articles.

They had gushed together when one had been asked to the Yule Ball—by a champion no less!—and cried together when the other's boyfriend broke her heart.

After that, they swore off boys. And, best friends that they were, they found the comfort and intimacy in each other's arms, in soft kisses and whispered words of affection.

And in the end, they fought together—side by side, just like always.

And when Parvati saw Lavender plummet over a railing, saw Fenrir Greyback jump on her best friend and snuff out what life might be left from her fall, she lost it. She went after the werewolf with everything she had.

She never stood a chance.

Years later, it was not the portraits of the Fat Lady or Greta Catchlove that Hogwarts students went to for gossip. Students sought out the two young, pretty ghosts wandering Gryffindor Tower, only ever found together with their fingers intwined, whispering secrets and gossip and sweet nothings to each other.

After all, they had promised each other. Best friends _forever_.


	14. You Break My Heart

Title: You Break My Heart  
Characters/Pairings: Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy

Challenge/Forum - QLFC Season 5 Round 8 (Beater 2, Ballycastle Bats)  
Prompt: Draco realizes his family's views are not something he agrees with.  
Opt-Prompts: (word) elegant, (dialogue) "You're too old for this world."

Challenge/Forum - HPFC Friends Challenge  
Prompt: TOW The Holiday Armadillo (7.10) - Write about a father/son relationship.

World: Post-Hogwarts (canon-ish)  
Word Count: 1,244  
(Fabulous) Betas: thompson

A/N: This is dedicated to NERC, Keeper for the Falmouth Falcons for QFLC Season 5, whose head canon is the inspiration for this story.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was dying.

That was the short of it. The long of it was that Lucius Malfoy had spent the last year wasting away in Malfoy Manor, increasingly confined to bedrest, coughing up blood and outdated pure-blood ideology. Though he had never been a particularly pleasant man in life, Lucius was taking his odiousness to new heights as he approached death.

Even Narcissa was loathe to be around him anymore. She preferred to spend her time cuddling her grandson, Scorpius.

Draco didn't blame her one bit; the small child who was just learning to walk and who had started pointing to him and saying 'da da' was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen and the best thing he'd ever done. Draco often spent hours watching his son toddle around the manor, clap at his nanny elf, and grin at Astoria. For Scorpius, the world was a place of wonder-a place of continual awe. He was entranced by everything and nothing, his little brain taking in all that was around him and learning to make sense of the world.

Draco hoped Scorpius would be more observant about the world than he had been as a child. And then again, perhaps that would not be an issue; Draco had sworn to Astoria when they married that any children they had would grow up very differently than he had. He hoped he could raise his son to see the world for what it was, not for a bigoted concept of what the world ought to be.

Despite his childhood aspirations, Draco refused to become his father.

Still, family was family, so Draco steeled himself and opened the door to Lucius's suite.

"Father?" he called, scanning the sitting room for the old wizard.

He found Lucius seated on an emerald wingback, looking out onto the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Even in ill health, Lucius Malfoy made sure to look the picture-perfect pureblood: long hair brushed out and tied neatly back, elegant day robes suitable for receiving guests, shoulders as straight as he could manage, given his infirmity, and the ever-present mask of Slytherin impassivity.

Lucius's face changed into a glower, however, when he turned to face his son.

"If you're going to try to bring that so-called Medi-witch in for another check-up, don't bother. I won't receive her." He turned back to the window, waves of haughtiness emanating from him.

Draco breathed deep and fought not to roll his eyes. "Father, we've been over this. Healer Frobisher is the leading expert on your condition. Her treatments have kept you alive this long. You didn't have any issues with her until you discovered her blood status."

Lucius scoffed. "No issues? How about a gross misdiagnosis? I am _not_ suffering from some Muggle disease. Your _expert_ is an imbecile."

"Fine," sighed Draco. Healer Frobisher had commented to the young wizard that his father's days were numbered—it would be weeks now, not months. Even with consistent treatments, Lucius wouldn't see the end of the year. It wasn't worth the fight, not anymore—not when they had such little time left.

But before Draco could leave, he heard his father hiss behind him, "I never thought I'd live to see the day when my own son was a blood-traitor. Better I die than witness the dishonor you've brought on our house."

Draco froze and desperately tried to check his rising anger and resentment.

But his father, oblivious to his son's outrage, continued. "You break my heart, traipsing through the halls of your ancestors with mudbloods, consorting with half-bloods and creatures." Lucius spit in the general direction of his son. "You're a disappointment."

"I'm a disappoint?" Draco turned, fury flashing in his eyes. " _I'm_ a disappointment? What about you, Father? You've failed this family. You've failed me! You offered me up to a madman who branded me like cattle and blackmailed me to murder for him!"

Lucius sneered. "Speaking of failure…"

"No." Draco held up his hand. "I will not listen to this. The Death Eaters lost, Father. More than that, they were wrong. Blood status has nothing to do with magical power, and it never has. The Dark Lord used your bigotry to manipulate you. He plundered the Malfoy vaults and left our family seat with so much ambient Dark Magic that I had to hire the Goblin Horde to cleanse it!

"I think as soon as I stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express first year I realized something was wrong. Vince and Greg were pure-bloods, but they barely had enough magic to function. They were idiots to boot; did you know Vince couldn't even read? All those years of private tutoring, and he couldn't even understand our first year textbook.

"And then there was this boy—this _half-blood_ —who could outfly me and killed a Basilisk and won the Triwizard Tournament. And there was his best friend, a Muggle-born, who never met a spell she couldn't do and radiated magical power. In another life, we would have been friends, but instead I hated them. I thought I hated them because they were beneath me, but really I hated them because they made me question everything I knew. Everything _you_ told me."

"They are beneath you, Draco," Lucius cried. "They're tainted! You're a member of the Sacred 28—a Malfoy! You are the best of the best, even if you are a fool!"

"But you know what really forced me to see your bigotry for what it was?" asked Draco, his voice low and deceptively calm. "When I woke up fifth year, and my father had been thrown in prison. You and your friends—all pure-bloods, all grown, war-hardened wizards—were defeated by _children_. There were twice as many of you, and you _still_ fell to them."

"The Order…"

"And the worst part? The worst part was that by the time I realized you were wrong, that _monster_ was already living here, threatening Mother. You lied to me, and then your actions forced me to do the worst thing I've ever done."

Draco hauled up the left sleeve of his shirt, baring the Dark Mark for his father. "This is a stain that will stay on our family for generations, Lucius. Scorpius, and any other children I have, will bear the burden of my disgrace. My shame."

"Scorpius is a Malfoy! A pure-blood! He has nothing to be ashamed of. He is a king among wizards!"

Draco shook his head. "You're too old for this world, Father. Too old, too backwards, too narrow-minded. And I'm too tired to deal with it anymore."

Draco opened the door, his father sputtering behind him in a rare case of behavior unbecoming of a Malfoy.

"Healer Frobisher has said you won't see the end of the month without treatment, but I will send her away and tell her not to come again, if that's what you truly want." Lucius scoffed and muttered something under his breath—'mudblood snake oil' was one of the phrases Draco caught.

Emotionally exhausted, Draco turned back to his father one last time. "This weekend is Scorpius's birthday. We will have guests, including his Muggle-born godmother." Lucius sneered. "You are, of course, welcome to join the festivities, but if you cannot behave, Father, I swear that will be the last time you ever see your grandson."

And Draco closed the door on his father, willing away the tears in his eyes for a man he wasn't sure he ever truly loved but who broke his heart nonetheless.


	15. An Awfully Mean Boy

Title: An Awfully Mean Boy  
Characters/Pairings: OC, Tom Riddle

Challenge/Forum - QLFC Season 5 Round 9 (Beater 2, Ballycastle Bats)  
Prompt: Bludger - Write about a witch or wizard being attacked  
Opt-Prompts: (word) defeated, (dialogue) "Should we tell him that it's fake?", (word) slate

Challenge/Forum - HPFC Friends Challenge  
Prompt: TOW The Videotape (8.4) - Write about someone who uses two names

World: Pre-Hogwarts (canon-ish)  
Word Count: 1,532  
Beta: the ever-fabulous crochetaway

A/N: I dislike writing about Tom Riddle/LV, but I read this prompt and couldn't get him out of my head.

* * *

" _Crucio._ "

The hissed Unforgivable sent a wave of pain through Virgil Crabbe, the likes of which he'd never experienced in his life. His fingers were exploding, his eyes were on fire, and his body had long ago let loose any water he'd had. He couldn't remember if this was the third _Crucio_ he'd been hit with, or the thirteenth. His memory began and ended with the pain coming from the yew wand above him.

"Do you understand now, Crabbe?" Tom Riddle asked, his near-black eyes boring down into Crabbe's dull brown ones. "I want neither your concern nor your advice. I want you to _do as I ask_."

When the curse finally ended, Crabbe turned and vomited on the slate tiles beneath him. He stayed down and allowed the rest of the Knights to exit the room. He managed to wait until all had left before he began crying.

An hour later, his little sister, Vesta, alerted to Virgil's situation by one of the more sympathetic Knights, snuck into the abandoned classroom. She vanished his vomit and other fluids and ran a cool, wet cloth across his brow until the shaking stopped.

A small mercy for the punishment he'd bore in protecting young Vesta's betrothed from being used as target practice for the Knights. The Goyle heir may have been a Hufflepuff, but he would be family soon, and family meant something to Virgil.

* * *

When Vesta burst into the common room in tears two weeks later, throwing herself into Virgil's arms, it took him near twenty minutes to calm her down enough to learn that Clement Goyle was in the infirmary. He was, apparently, severely wounded from a number of severing charms to his torso and clearly _Obliviated_ by the perpetrators.

Virgil, of course, knew exactly what had happened.

His punishment at Tom's wand, his suffering bout after bout of the _Cruciatus_ —it had meant nothing. His pleas to Tom had fallen on deaf ears and, more importantly, the oaths they'd sworn as Knights had been violated.

It took every last ounce of familial pride and courage he could summon, but Virgil marched into the abandoned classroom—the one that had become the unofficial meeting room of the Knights of Walpurgis—and leveled his wand in the face of Tom Riddle.

"A wizard's duel for my family's honor," he said, his voice shaking but his back straight.

The other wizards in the room—Abraxas Malfoy, Thaddeus Nott, Edmund Rosier—looked on in horrified shock. Tom Riddle regarded him as one might regard a pile of hippogriff manure on the path to Hogsmeade.

All five of them knew it was a mistake to challenge Tom, but only Virgil knew he was as good as killing himself. He had seen the look of bloodlust in Tom's eyes that night, before he'd lost himself to the pain of the torture curse. He knew the darkness that simmered beneath his charismatic classmate-his former friend.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Virgil?" Tom's voice was deceptively light. "Goyle is not yet family. Perhaps young Vesta might make a better match, if the squib succumbs to his unfortunate injuries. Antonin graduates soon and will be in want of a wife."

Virgil simply narrowed his eyes. The brotherhood of the Knights of Walpurgis could hang, he would die a thousand deaths before Antonin Dolohov touched his little sister.

After a moment, Tom stood, and though he was a few centimeters shorter than the imposing Crabbe heir, Virgil could not help be feel as though the orphaned, no-name half-blood was looking down on him.

For my family, Virgil thought. And to show my brothers who this monster really is.

When it became apparent that Virgil would not respond or back down, Tom sighed. "Meet me outside of the girls' bathroom on the first floor at midnight." He glanced back at the three seated wizards. "The Knights will stand witness."

* * *

When Tom Riddle hissed like a snake, opening a secret well, Virgil felt his stomach drop. Tom led the way down, transfiguring stairs along the wall of the well.

The lower they climbed, the more his imminent death played on Virgil's senses. He could smell the foul stench of rot and decay, and the oppressive grey chamber sucked the vibrance from the green trim of their robes and ties.

"Where are we?" Abraxas' voice was barely a whisper.

"Somewhere we won't be disturbed," said Tom evenly. "Where well-meaning professors won't interfere with something as grave as family honor." Virgil could hear the sarcasm dripping from Tom's voice.

A deep rustling echoed through the chamber, its volume increased by the echo of the stone walls.

"What was that?" Antonin's voice was aloof, but his shoulders were tense, his wand was drawn, and his eyes darted to the corners of the room.

"Given how you're jumping like a first year Hufflepuff, Dolohov, it must be a great monster of some kind." Tom had yet to take his eyes off his opponent, but the look was not what Virgil expected. Tom was an angry man, and that anger often bubbled beneath his cool, Slytherin facade. Virgil had expected to see that anger now, for his challenge to their leader.

Instead, Tom looked excited—almost aroused.

"Look at Virgil-he's terrified," Edmund whispered to Abraxas. "Should we tell him that it's fake? Tom wouldn't _really_ let him die down here. This is all a show, right?"

Abraxas pushed down the sick rising in throat and shook his head once, sharply.

It was over before it ever really began. Virgil's _Diffindo_ bounced off Tom's shield, ricocheting into the wall and deeply gouging the stone. Tom rallied and summoned a viper that, only moments later, had its fangs deeply embedded in Virgil's left leg.

There would be no mercy, Virgil thought, laying on the floor, defeated. No quick trips to Madam Pomfrey. This chamber was not simply a secret, it was a tomb. His tomb.

He refused to meet the eyes of his fellow Knights, who stared at their dying brother. If there was any admiration for Virgil's courage of convictions, it was buried beneath too much fear, shame, and pity to be palpable.

"Go back to the dorms," Tom commanded. "Make sure you are not seen. I will take care of this." He gestured to Virgil, disdain dripping from his voice.

And so left Virgil's former friends, now implicated in the death of one of their own and forever tied to the monster that was Tom Riddle.

Though his heart was beating faster and his body felt increasingly like lead, Virgil kept his eye on Tom, who had pulled a small, thin leather book from his pocket with an almost gleeful look. "You have done me a great service, Crabbe," Tom said as he walked toward the dying man and laid the book down just out of Virgil's reach. "You have secured the loyalty of my Knights."

"Loyalty." Virgil turned his head and spat with all the contempt he could muster.

"Yes, loyalty," said Tom, using his wand to etch runes in the floor. "A man does not bite the hand that feeds him, nor does he bite the hand that would kill him for such an act." Tom smiled at Virgil then, a genuine smile, and it was the most horrific thing Virgil had seen in his short life. "You would have done well to learn that lesson before tonight, but it seems your death will have the second, and more important benefit of securing my immortality."

Virgil could no longer feel his arms or legs, and his vision was starting to go spotty. That Tom was spouting off about immortality worried him, but he pushed that thought aside and focused, in the last moments of his life, on his family: his sweet sister, Vesta; his younger brother, Vincent, who would take his place as heir; his parents, who had instilled in him the duty on owed to one's family. He hoped they would remember him fondly.

He hoped they steered clear of the monster that was Tom Riddle.

It was a small mercy that Virgil took his last breath moments before Tom hissed loudly, in Parseltongue, " _Darling, dinner!_ "

* * *

During graduation, there was a moment of silence for Virgil Crabbe, the boy from their year who had wandered off into the Forbidden Forest one night and never returned.

"No great loss, if you ask me," Myrtle Warren whispered to her friend, Olive Hornby, after Headmaster Dippet began another long winded speech. "That Crabbe was an awfully mean boy. Just as bad as Tom Riddle and the rest of that lot."

* * *

Years later, Lord Voldemort would take an oath from Vincent Crabbe the Third to watch over a special item for him-an item that had been in his family's keep for more than fifty years.

The ring was buried with his grandfather, the locket was hidden away with a different kind of dead, the cup was deep in the bowels of Gringotts, and the diadem was tucked away at Hogwarts amid long-forgotten junk.

It pleased Voldemort to know the one Horcrux he entrusted to one of his inner circle had been created with the blood of that very family's former heir.


	16. A Battle Worth Fighting

Title: A Battle Worth Fighting  
Characters/Pairings: Narcissa Malfoy

Forum/Challenge: QFLC Round 13 (Ballycastle Bats, Beater 2)  
Prompt: Write about a character fighting for their family.  
Opt-Prompts: (setting) Durmstrang, (word) royalty

World: Hogwarts-era AU  
Word Count: 1,449

* * *

In retrospect, it hadn't been a battle worth fighting.

She'd mourned that he lovely little boy would never wear Slytherin green and silver, but Lucius had put his foot down and in the end Draco had matriculated to Durmstrang instead of his parents' alma mater.

But Narcissa Malfoy always looked at the long game, and though she'd lost the battle she thought there was still hope of winning the war. Which is why when Draco wrote to invite his parents to the Annual Dueling Classic at Durmstrang, where he was a sixth year, she instructed Lucius to send their enthusiastic acceptance.

"I'd like to see the school my son attends," she answered blithely, when her husband tried to talk her out of the trip. "You never once called in that favor with Igor that you promised so I could visit the school, and then the fool went and got himself killed. I want to see my son, Lucius, and you will not stop me."

She channeled her late, insane sister-recently sent through the Veil courtesy of their cousin Sirius-and stared long at Lucius. A flicker of anger flitted across his blue eyes, but then he offered her a small smile.

"Of course, dear. I'll let the Dark Lord know I'll be away for the week."

She pursed her lips, hearing the threat hidden in his placating words. She would be the scapegoat for his absence and, if it proved to be a hardship for their recently-resurrected leader, she would bear the accompanying punishment.

Another small battle, another strategic surrender, to keep her sweet little boy safe from harm.

* * *

She should have been accustomed to underwater views-the Slytherin dorms had lovely views of the Black Lake-but an entire school underwater in what amounted to a giant, permanent Bubblehead charm was disconcerting.

When she said as much to Draco, her sixteen-year-old son shrugged in the most teenage of responses. "It seemed really cool first year, but I'm used to it now. The worst part is scheduling portkeys to the surface for Quidditch practice."

Narcissa had to admit Durmstrang had done wonders for her son's sense of entitlement; no one at the Balkan school cared that his family was practically British wizarding royalty, and he had no godfather teaching classes or father on the Board of Governors to cater to his every whim. Each time she saw him, Narcissa thought her little baby boy was less a child and more a man.

She was both proud and horrified.

Especially now that the Dark Lord had returned and already expressed interest in having Draco take Lucius's place with the newest generation of Death Eaters: a leader, a strategist, and a financier.

That Durmstrang excelled in teaching Dark Arts, and that he sat at the top of his class, made Draco all the more enticing a conquest.

Narcissa tried not to think about the similarities between her husband and son as she watched him throw curse after curse at his opponent on the dueling platform. She and Lucius sat with the other visiting parents in a special section of the 'outdoor' stadium. She avoided looking up as much as possible; the glare of the sunlight in the water contrasted against the bloodthirsty mermen who had come to watch the wizards try to kill each other.

Their sharp teeth and vicious grins didn't sit well with the prim British witch.

After Draco advanced to the finals, she and Lucius fielded half-hearted but spectacularly polite congratulations from other parents and Durmstrang alumni.

"Quite the boy there, Lucius," clapped Dmitri Dolohov, a distant cousin of Antonin. Dmitri, Narcissa noted, was both more well-kept and infinitely more sane, even before Antonin had spent a decade in Azkaban. "He'll be a good addition to the war effort on your little island."

Dmitri's voice lowered. "And when the Dark Lord makes for the continent, perhaps we will share a victory drink in the halls of Durmstrang as well, eh?"

Narcissa suppressed the shiver she felt as she remembered the violence of the first war, the bodies of Muggles littering Death Eater revels. After one particularly violent evening, Lucius, drunk with power and madness, had come to bed without washing.

She'd instructed the house elves to burn the sheets the next day.

She followed the men, who were speaking in low voices, as they walked to congratulate Draco. Glancing around, she wondered if Draco had ever had any hope of staying out of the war. Almost 3,000 kilometers away, and with Karkaroff dead and gone, Draco was still surrounded by Death Eaters and sympathizers.

She didn't care about embarrassing his son as she hugged him too tight and just a little too long. Too soon, she feared, she wouldn't be able to hold him at all.

Too soon, she feared, he might be dead like her fanatical sister.

* * *

"Your son is very talented," said the short, brusque man who had introduced himself as Draco's Dark Arts instructor. "He has a sharp mind and is quick with a wand. It is rare to find a wizard with both."

She smiled genuinely at the praise. "We are very proud of him." She turned to gesture to her husband, but Lucius had been pulled by Dmitri toward a group of men she assumed were members of their same 'political' group. She turned back to the man, her smile becoming apologetic. "How long have you been teaching at Durmstrang?"

"What feels like forever," said the man, laughing. "I have seen many young wizards come through these halls, but your son is quite special."

"I have said so for years," Narcissa agreed, pride beaming in her grey eyes.

"Have you all discussed his future beyond Durmstrang?" asked the man, turning her away from the crowd so they could hear each other better.

Her heart skipped a beat. How much could she tell this man? "He has not indicated a particular field of interest to us, though I believe his father would like him to return to Britain and settle there."

The man clucked. "Pity, that. If he were willing to stay abroad longer, I would suggest sending him farther east to continue his studies in dueling. My master at Mahoutokro has expressed interest in meeting him and taking him on as a pupil."

"Japan?" asked Narcissa, both shocked and slightly hopeful.

He nodded. "It is far, but inside of four years he would be qualified for Hit Wizard work with the ICW, at the very least."

And, thought Narcissa, he would be far, far away from the Dark Lord. Far, far away from the fighting that took Bellatrix and even now threatened her and her husband.

Far, far away from that horrifically macabre Dark Mark.

"My sincerest apologies. I don't think I caught your name, Professor…?"

"Dearborn. But you, Madam Malfoy, can call me Doc."

She smiled at the man's familiarity. Normally when men took liberties with her, they were leering and lewd. Doc was neither of those things; instead, he seemed to treat her as though they were old friends. He continued speaking, as though the offered familiarity were par for the course rather than a sign of intimacy and confidence.

"Draco has expressed a keen interest in studying with Master Li and has already begun a correspondence with him." Doc paused for a moment, seeming to consider his thoughts before speaking. "He has also expressed some anxiety about returning to Britain, given the current hostilities."

She glanced back at her husband, who had fought so hard to send Draco to Durmstrang. Her husband who, the next day, would clap their son on the back and congratulate his win in the final duel of the tournament. Her husband, who had said no to her once, years ago, promising that Durmstrang would teach their son to be a man.

And then she saw the young man standing beside Lucius, flushed with pride in his win. She noticed how he did not defer to his father, nor did he look for validation.

He stood on his own.

Perhaps sending Draco to Durmstrang had not been a complete loss. Yes, she'd been separated from him, but he'd also been separated from his father.

And somewhere in the last six years, her son had become a man.

She turned back to Doc and smiled slyly at her newfound ally. "It would be a hardship to lose Draco's companionship, but I would never come between my son and his dreams. Tell me more about Master Li and the program at Mahoutokoro."

Perhaps she had one more battle left in her. And she would defy both her husband and the Dark Lord to keep her Draco safe.


	17. Saint Valentine

Title: Saint Valentine  
Characters/Pairings: Albus Dumbledore, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy

Forum: The Golden Snitch  
Challenge: Adopt a Reindeer  
School/House: Mahoutokoro, House Mizu

Prompts: Write about Valentine's Day  
Points: 10 points

World: Post-Hogwarts AU  
Word Count: 2,083

A/N: I wanted to write a Valentine's Day story that had to do with love but wasn't necessarily romantic. I also wanted to draw on this hagiography surrounding Saint Valentine himself. So there is love, but also death, destruction, and revolution. After all, happiness can be found even in the darkest of places. ;)

XXXX

It seemed appropriate that he'd be arrested on Valentine's Day.

As Albus Dumbledore was unceremoniously carted away by two Aurors-Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick, class of '95 and '94, respectively-he smiled that the couple he'd most recently wed had managed to evade their grasp.

After all, Hermione Granger had cat-like reflexes, and she'd whisked away her new husband seconds after she heard the 'crack' of the Aurors arrival.

Dumbledore wasn't quite that quick-he was no longer the spring chicken he had once been-but he also put up no resistance when the former Slytherin Quidditch stars arrested him for violating miscegenation laws. He submit to their _Incarcerous_ , though he could have easily broken his restraints, and calmly accompanied them to the Ministry of Magic, where he was processed and put into a holding cell.

His conviction was all but certain. He wasn't looking forward to Azkaban, though he hoped his incarceration there would be brief-either through the repeal of the laws or his death. The newest Minister for Magic, Lucius Malfoy, had reinstated the Dementors as keepers of the wizarding prison, and he had too many memories of bonding star-crossed couples to escape their notice.

If the miscegenation laws were not repealed by that summer, he would be likely be little more than a husk of a man.

XXXX

"Order in the court!" cried Percy Weasley, Assistant to the Undersecretary of the Minister for Magic. The boy had gone far since his graduation from Hogwarts three years before-he was instrumental to both Minister Malfoy and the Undersecretary of the Minister, Dolores Umbridge. His adherence to Ministry edicts had severed the boy from his more progressively-minded family, and despite working in the same building Percy had not spoken with his father in more than a year.

Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile. Percy played his part well; he was the deepest mole the revolution had in the Ministry, and aside from Dumbledore only one other person was aware of the boy's true loyalties.

Another reason Dumbledore had allowed himself to be taken: Hermione Granger knew too much about the structure of the revolution to be captured, especially now with so much to lose.

"We will commence with the trial of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," Minister Malfoy drew languidly. "Charges?"

Percy stood and unrolled a scroll. "Twenty-three counts of unauthorized bonding, which are in violation of the Miscegenation Laws."

"How does the defendant plead?" asked the Minister, glaring at Dumbledore.

"Guilty as charged, Minister Malfoy," said the old wizard, though his voice betrayed no regret.

The gallery broke out in loud whispers. Dumbledore's eye caught Rita Skeeter's Quick Quill moving so rapidly it could catch fire. The gleam in the blonde journalist's eyes was one he'd seen before, usually followed by a torrid story in the following day's _Daily Prophet_.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, as the defendant has admitted his guilt…"

"Ahem." It pleased Dumbledore beyond belief to use Umbridge's own tic against her. "Madam Umbridge, I do believe I am allowed to make a statement."

"Given the circumstances, that will be unnecessary," said Umbridge in a sickeningly-sweet voice. Her pink cardigan peeked out beneath the edges of her Wizengamot robes, which matched the small pill-box hat she wore. She looked away from Dumbledore to address the gathered legal body of the wizarding world. However, she was prevent from further addressing them, not by Dumbledore, but by Percy Weasley.

"Point of order, Madam Umbridge, but Mr. Dumbledore is right. To prevent his opportunity for a statement would be in violation of our due process laws and would leave his conviction open to a mistrial."

Umbridge pursed her lips, and Dumbledore cheered internally. Percy had managed to insult him, shoring up the young man's cover, while thwarting Umbridge and Malfoy and affording him the opportunity to speak in front of the entire Wizengamot-and the public gallery.

Just as they had planned.

Minister Malfoy frowned in distaste. "Proceed, Mr. Dumbledore," he said resignedly. Then he narrowed his eyes. "But keep your statement short. The witches and wizards of the Wizengamot have better things to do than listen to you justify your illegal actions through some supposed 'greater good.'"

Dumbledore nodded, and then turned to face not the Wizengamot, but the gallery behind him.

"Ladies and gentleman of the Wizengamot," he intoned, gesturing to the group that he was ostensibly addressing, "I am guilty of violating laws: I am guilty of violating _unjust_ laws. The Miscegenation Laws that prevent a Muggleborn witch or wizard from marrying a pure- or half-blood are simply the latest instantiation of Lord Voldemort's pureblood ideology."

The crowd gasped at the name of the recently-destroyed Dark Lord.

"The Dark Lord has been defeated!" cried Anise Selwyn. The witch was grasping at the pearls around her neck, horrified that Dumbledore would be as uncouth as to speak Voldemort's name aloud.

"But his goals for the wizarding world remain," said Dumbledore. "The vilification and eventual eradication of muggleborns from the wizarding world. These Miscegenation Laws are the first step toward such a world.

But, ladies and gentlemen, these laws are wrong. It is wrong to prevent two people from being together because of blood status. Our esteemed Minister would have you believe that miscegenation leads to the destruction of the wizarding world, the destruction of our history and culture. But I ask, who better to teach Muggleborns the ways of the wizarding world than those of us who have been raised in it?"

Dumbledore turned back to Minister Malfoy, a twinkle in his deep blue eyes.

"Who better to teach the smartest witch of her generation, Hermione Granger, a Muggleborn, than her new husband, the son of the Minister for Magic, Draco Malfoy?"

The courtroom erupted.

XXXX

By the time Hermione had stopped chain Apparating, Draco was sure they were in Fiji.

She whipped out her wand and did one final sweep for tracking charms.

"I think we're safe, but to be sure we should keep our glamours on and avoid using magic for the next twelve hours." The curly-haired witch frowned. "Maybe a full day."

Draco wrapped his arms around the witch's waist. A quick glance told him they were not, in fact, in Fiji, but in a resistance safehouse in northern Scotland. There were few markers of their location, but Draco recognized the McGonagall tartan draped over the couch.

"That's not going to happen," he whispered in his wife's ear. "Because it is my wedding night, and I want you to look like _you_ , not"-he waved his hand up and down at her, gesturing to her curly blonde hair and green eyes-"this witch." He kissed her neck. "And we will be casting a contraception charm. I want to enjoy my wife for a bit before we start our own Quidditch team."

She smiled and lightly hit his shoulder. "No Quidditch team. I'm not Molly Weasley."

He murmured his agreement into her neck. "No, I wouldn't marry a ginger, would I?"

She lightly hit him again, and then relaxed into his arms. "I'm worried about Albus."

Draco nodded. "I know. But everything is going to plan, Hermione. This is what is supposed to happen." He pulled her toward a doorway that, he assumed, led to the bedrooms. "Now let's go celebrate Valentine's Day, _wife_."

XXXX

Three days later, Sirius Black came through the Floo, his hand covering his eyes. "Are you decent?" he called.

Hermione, who was sitting on the couch reading, rolled her eyes. "And if I said I wasn't?"

Sirius dropped his hand, his eyes wide. "Really?"

"Leave my wife alone, Black," said Draco, sauntering into the room and setting his hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Do you have news?"

The older wizard smiled wanly and dropped a stack of papers on the coffee table. "As expected."

Hermione picked them up and quickly flipped through the front pages.

 _Albus Dumbledore Arrested for Illegal Bonding Ceremonies!_

 _Malfoy Miscegenation! Malfoy Heir Weds Muggleborn?_

 _Minister for Magic Disowns Son, Files Arrest Warrant_

Hermione reached for Draco's hand without looking up and, finding his long fingers, squeezed. She imagined his face was as stoic as ever, but she knew he was struggling with the loss of his family.

"What are people saying?" asked Draco with no emotion.

"No one has explicitly come out against your father. However, given that his platform is preserving wizarding traditions, his supporters aren't pleased with your disownment-especially as there is no other heir to the Malfoy family."

"And his opponents?" asked Hermione.

"Openly calling for a review and repeal of the miscegenation laws, citing your marriage as an example of their ineffectiveness."

"Just as we planned," muttered Hermione.

Draco leaned down and kissed her head. "I love you," he whispered in her ear. "Never doubt that."

Sirius smiled at the couple. "A few more days, and we'll be ready to move you to a long-term safe house," said Sirius. "So enjoy your privacy while you can."

Draco groaned. "Don't tell me we're staying with Weasley."

Hermione perked up, a hopeful look in her eyes.

Sirius grinned. "Of course you're staying with Ron. He and Sally send their regards and look forward to catching up."

"Are Susan and Justin there as well?" asked Hermione.

Sirius nodded. "Along with Fred and Katie. Dean and Pansy emigrated to the US last week, so you're lucky a bedroom opened up and you won't have to snuggle up on the couch to sleep."

Four days later, the couple's good mood was dampened when the unexpected happened.

They arrived at the safehouse to find their fellow fugitives sitting around the kitchen table, grim.

The _Daily Prophet_ lay open, and Hermione stared at the front-page headline, horrified.

 _Albus Dumbledore Sentenced to Dementor's Kiss!_

XXXX

Percy Weasley watched as the dementor approached the greatest wizard of their time.

He felt all the goodness of the room sucked away by the shade-all his love for Audrey, all his devotion to his family and the revolution, all his hope for a better future, destroyed by the evil before him.

'This is the way the world ends,' he thought, as the dementor leaned in to the uncowed Dumbledore. 'Not with a bang but with a whimper.'*

Moments later, the great Albus Dumbledore fell to the floor, now nothing more than a beating heart in a soulless body.

XXXX

The execution of Dumbledore was not the signal of strength and warning to dissidents that Minister Malfoy had hoped it would be. Rather, it was the beginning of the end for the Miscegenation Laws and the pureblood elitists who backed them.

The protest outside of the Ministry days after Dumbledore's execution turned violent. One of the casualties in the crossfire was a young, halfblood child whose parents-a pureblood woman and Muggleborn man-had protested the laws that would have kept them separated had they been on the books a decade earlier.

The following day, the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ featured a picture of the dying child wrapped in his parents' arms.

After that, Minister Malfoy never stood a chance.

Within two weeks of the protest, the Minister had been ousted and exiled to the continent, the Miscegenation Laws had been repealed, and those who had been fugitives due to the law had been pardoned.

Percy Weasley had assumed the role of Minister for Magic, his role in the revolution having been revealed by Dumbledore's right-hand woman, Hermione Granger. Dolores Umbridge, among others, was stripped of her position in the Ministry, and Draco Malfoy was reinstated as the head of the Malfoy family by a unanimous Wizengamot vote.

XXXX

"Happy Anniversary, Hermione," said Draco, squeezing his wife's hand.

She kissed him on the cheek and smiled softly. He had not wanted to bring her here, at least not today, but she'd demanded it. She said they owed it to him to be here, especially on Valentine's Day.

Hermione kissed her husband's cheek and then walked forward, a small bouquet of white carnations in her arm.

She set them in front of the gravestone, the cold wind whipping around her. She set a sticking charm on the bouquet, so the flowers would not fly away. "Happy Valentine's Day, Professor. Thank you," she whispered, for everything."

After a few moments of silence, the couple turned and walked away from the simple gravestone in Godric's Hollow.

 _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

 _13 August 1881 - 22 February 1999_

" _Do not pity the dead. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love."_

XXXX

*TS Eliot, _The Hollow Men_


	18. To Name a Black

Title: To Name a Black  
Characters/Pairings: Cygnus Black/Druella Black

Forum: The Golden Snitch  
Challenge: Adopt a Reindeer  
School/House: Mahoutokoro, House Mizu

Prompts: Write about how a character got their name  
Points: 10 points

World: Pre-Hogwarts  
Word Count: 1,016

A/N: It's always been strange to me that Narcissa doesn't have a constellation name. What would've driven Cygnus and Druella to deviate from the Black family tradition? I imagined it was some concession on Cygnus's part, and this is where I ended up.

Also, the _narcissus_ plant is another name for daffodil. I like that etymology for Narcissa much more than the Greek myth (though JKR has indicated the myth is the inspiration for her name).

XXXX

"Push!" cried the Healer.

Druella Black screamed in a most unlady-like manner. Dark spots danced in the corner of her eyes, and despite the bone-crushing pain between her thighs she felt feather-light-as if once this baby was out she would simply float away forever.

Labor hadn't been like this with Bellatrix or Andromeda. No, those girls had come easily into the world, though they had been anything but easy as children.

However, from its start this pregnancy had been different: all-day morning sickness, shooting back pains, and, near the end, constant bed rest. The contractions, when they started, had increased in intensity so quickly that she'd barely announced she was in labor before she was screaming at her husband to be taken to St. Mungo's.

Safe in the arms of her Healer, Cygnus had disappeared into the waiting room. She wished he would have stayed, though she knew he would not; it wasn't the done thing for men to be present for the birth of their children.

Still, this felt different, and she needed the support of her husband-of anyone, really.

Well, anyone but Walburga. That shrew might scare the baby back into her, and Druella was ready to be done with this pregnancy.

With one last push, drawing on the last vestiges of her strength and magic, Druella brought her baby into the world.

The Healer took the crying newborn, covered in the effluvium of birth, and held it up for Druella to see. "Congratulations, Mrs. Black. You have another daughter."

Had she been conscious for the pronouncement, Druella would have cried in both disappointment and joy- _another_ daughter. However, upon the birth of her daughter, Druella Black had passed out.

It would be a full day-with enough healing spells to write a textbook on birth-specific spellcrafting and more blood replenishing potions than were recommended-before Mrs. Black was stable enough to be _Renneverated_.

XXXX

"We've done everything we can," the Healer explained to a stoic Cygnus Black. Behind him, Cygnus's brother Orion listened in as his sister (and sister-in-law), Walburga, cooed at the newest addition to the Black family.

"Will she live?" asked Cygnus. Five years ago, when they had married, he had had no love for his wife. She had simply been the woman his parents had told him to marry. There had been mutual understanding, and a modicum of respect, but nothing resembling affection or emotion for either of them.

But now, after two beautiful daughters and more tender moments than Cygnus had ever thought possible, the notion that he had almost lost his wife had hit Cygnus harder than a _Cruicio_ from Tom.

"Yes," said the Healer. "But her health will always be very fragile. And…" He hesitated.

"Out with it," snapped Orion from behind his brother.

The Healer jolted, and then looked at Cygnus with sympathy. "I'm sorry Mr. Black, but your wife will never have any more children."

XXXX

"Lyra," offered Orion. "It lies near Cygnus."

"Vesta," said Walburga. "We have not yet had a Vesta."

"Druella shall name her," said Cygnus, "when she wakes."

He would give his wife anything, he would give her the whole world, if she would just wake up.

XXXX

Two days later, when she was well enough for an extended visit, Cygnus arrived with a bouquet of daffodils, a set of silk pajamas, and her favorite afghan to help speed along her recovery.

Intent on finding the perfect name for their last child, the two read through the entire list of constellations. Their youngest didn't look like a Carina, and Druella resolutely refused to name one of her children after her husband's aunt Cassiopeia.

"She'll end up alone with a hundred Kneazles," muttered Druella. "Just like your aunt."

Cygnus snorted.

Delphinia wouldn't work-she pointed out their daughters' initials would spell BAD-and she thought Vulpecula sounded like a foot tonic.

"She looks just like you," said Cygnus, as he watched his wife feed their yet-unnamed daughter.

"Mmm, it's about time. There's no Rosier in Bellatrix or Andromeda. Those girls are all Black. In looks _and_ temper." She looked long at her husband, but there was a playful twinkle in her eye.

"But this one will be the spitting image of her lovely, sweet mother," said Cygnus, leaning down to kiss his wife's head.

XXXX

"What's her name?" asked Bellatrix, peering at her new sister.

"We haven't given her one yet, Bella." Druella smiled down at her daughter. She was still exhausted from the traumatic birth. No matter how many potions she took, she still felt as though a strong wind would blow her over. "What do you think we should name her?"

Bella thought hard. "Licorice!"

Walburga tsked. "She's a Black, Bellatrix. All Blacks are named after the heavens, and there are no stars or constellations named 'licorice.'"

Andromeda, who wasn't quite yet two, struggled out of her aunt's hold, reaching for her mother.

"Mummy!"

"Not now, 'dromeda, Mummy is holding Licorice." Bellatrix lifted her chin, and Druella was horrified to realize her daughter's actions made her look like a miniature Walburga.

"Hmph," snorted Walburga. "This is what happens when you can't pick a proper name, Druella. For Merlin's sake, if you don't name her soon Licorice may very well stick!"

XXXX

"Columba," offered Cygnus.

Druella frowned.

"Alcyone?" he asked.

His heart leaped when Druella did not immediately dismiss the name.

Druella frowned. "Perhaps…" She looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms. "Perhaps as a middle name."

Cygnus sighed in relief. "So she shall be No Name Alcyone Black?"

"Narcissa?" Druella asked, eyeing the bright yellow flowers on her windowsill-her favorite since she was a small girl. She turned and looked up, hopeful, at her husband. "Narcissa Alcyone Black?"

Cygnus's eyes were wide. There hadn't been a Black named after anything but constellations in as long as he could remember… but at this point he didn't care. He was thankful his wife was alive and well. He was thankful they'd been able to have a third child.

He was thankful for a name that wasn't Licorice.

"Hello, Narcissa," said Cygnus, smiling down at his youngest daughter.


	19. An Uneventful Year

Title: An Uneventful Year  
Characters: Astoria Greengrass

Forum/Challenge: TGS's 'Keeping Up with Cara' Challenge  
House: Mahoutokoro (House Mizu)

Prompt: (year) 1997-1998  
Points: 5 points

World: Hogwarts  
Word Count: 1,158

XXX

 _Dear Mother and Father,_

 _I have some exciting news: Madam Pomfrey has asked me to shadow her in the Infirmary this year! It's a great opportunity to practice for the practical portions of my OWLs in Potions and Charms. Plus, what would my future husband say if I didn't know how to fix the bumps and bruises that our children will no doubt incur? She has promised not to impose too much, as it is my OWL year, but I'm excited to be working with her._

"I'll need you to help me brew some basic healing potions," the matron said as she showed the young Ravenclaw witch around the infirmary. "The Headmaster used to take care of all of that, but he's far too busy now and Professor Slughorn can't seem to find the time."

However, despite their best efforts, the two witches couldn't keep Dittany stocked. Between the number of students who ended up in the infirmary after detention and the vials that went mysteriously missing, it seemed that their brewing never ended. Astoria found herself sleeping in the infirmary more often than not, as it wouldn't due for her to be out after curfew, even with an excuse from Madam Pomfrey.

Not with Amycus Carrow patrolling the halls.

 _My classes are all going very well. The new Muggle Studies Professor, Professor Carrow, has taken much different approach to the field than our past instructors. I think I'll still be ready to take my OWL, though I am rethinking a NEWT in the field. I feel my energies would be better spent focusing on my strengths, like Potions and Transfiguration, rather than taking as many NEWTs as possible._

It was everything she could do to hold the contents of her stomach back as she gently wrapped the first year's arm, black and blue and striped with blood.

"Please don't," the boy half whispered, half cried. "Please leave me alone."

"I won't hurt you," Astoria said softly, though he winced as she continued to wrap his arm. She glanced at the matron, who was busy with another half-blood victim of Alecto Carrow's 'teaching methods'. "I promise."

He was so tiny. Had she ever been that small?

"I'm sorry," he cried. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked before she could help herself.

"For being born."

 _Other than that, it's much of the same here at school. There are a few people who are unhappy with the changing political climate, as Father would say, but nothing too extreme. You know I don't follow that stuff at all; I'm just trying to study as much as possible!_

"I think I'm getting the hang of brewing multiple potions at once," Astoria said, grinning as Madam Pomfrey helped her decant the Dittany into glass vials. "I may had brewed too much!"

The matron smiled softly. "I'm sure we'll find a use for it. We always do."

Once the potions cupboard was as full as she could make it seem, she piled the extra vials into a small trunk. In pretty, precise script she wrote 'Extra Healing Potions - Brewed 15/10/1997.' Then she curled up in one of the infirmary beds and cast a series of silencing and privacy charms.

She was still awake an hour later, when the air shifted with a disillusionment charm and the trunk with healing potions was carried away.

They always raided the stores on Thursdays. Setting it up this way just made the whole rouse easier.

 _Daphne makes sure I still have time for fun. She even invited me to the Slytherin common room for game night! Don't tell her I said this, but she's the best sister I could ask for_.

"How are things in the dungeons?" Astoria asked softly. Daphne pursed her lips from across the library table.

"Pansy's still a bitch, and Millicent is just as bad now. She's actually bragging about taking the mark next summer, if you can believe it."

"And Theo?" Astoria liked her older sister's boyfriend, despite his father's Death Eater ways.

Daphne sighed. "Less enamoured with it, now that he's seen what it's done to Draco."

Astoria furrowed her brow. "Draco Malfoy? I was under the impression he was happy to be the Dark Lord's newest recruit."

Daphne shook her head. "He was, but after last year… let's just say I don't think the Malfoys will keep in the Dark Lord's favor very long. Draco's still the same pompous ass, but he's not vicious like Crabbe." Daphne's voice became very quiet. "Theo's teaching me how to throw my _Crucios_ , make them less powerful. He said he learned from Draco."

Astoria raised her eyebrows at that.

 _I've even made a new friend! She's another Ravenclaw, and she's helping me study for my Defense OWL. Nothing against Professor Carrow, but with five different professors over the past year I'll take all the extra help I can get!_

"Awfully late to be out, isn't it Miss Greengrass?"

A shudder went through Astoria as she felt Amycus Carrow slither up behind her.

"I was just heading back to Ravenclaw Tower, sir," she said, putting as much distance between herself and the sallow, leering wizard as possible.

"From the Infirmary? Yes, I hear you've been helping Pomfrey. You know, I could use a… hand… in the Defense classroom as well. I'll write you a pass to be out after hours." His fingers curled around her upper-arm as he made to drag her toward the Defense classroom-and his quarters. Astoria sucked in her breath and shut her eyes hard, desperate to find a way-any way-to not go with this man who was so transparent in his lecherous desire for her.

"There you are, Astoria," said a dreamy voice from behind them. "I'm glad I caught you. Are you ready to finish studying?"

Astoria's eyes went wide as Loony-Luna-Lovegood smiled dreamily. Ignoring Professor Carrow completely, the blonde walked up, grabbed Astoria's hand, twined their fingers together and, almost as if with magic, extracted her fellow Ravenclaw from their Defense professor's grip.

"I think a few more translations with the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc and you'll be ready for the exam next week!"

When they turned down a hall and out of Professor Carrow's sight, Astoria let loose a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. When they finally reached the safety of the tower, Luna still prattling on about Runes, Astoria shut the door behind them and hugged the girl.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Luna cocked her head in response. "For what? You really do need to work on your Anglo-Saxon; Professor Babbling was bemoaning your class the other day because no one had put in the work on that particular runic set yet."

Astoria nodded and opened the door to her room. As she closed it, she heard Luna say, even softer, "Thank you for the potions."

 _I'll write more when I can, but I expect it will be a fairly uneventful year._

 _I love you._

 _Astoria_


End file.
